Lunch
by MagpieDreamer
Summary: SPDDT crossover: The SPD rangers want lunch. Syd's stuck in a recording studio. What are you gonna do? Well, if Z's got anything to do with it...


**Lunch**

AN: Uh... Iwrote this a while ago, but, for some reason, never got round to up-loading it. Anyway, once the SPD/DT team-up happens, this fic will almost certainly be totally AU, as I just take the DT ranger's future and hurl it around playfully till it's nice and cosily wrapped around my plot. :-) So, yeah, this is just a weird little snippet I took out of the SPD B-squad's lives, 'cause I was bored. It starts and, it kinda ends. Then there's some stuff in the middle that might once have been plot but... you know... isn't. Enjoy! (And leave lots and lots and lots of reviews!)

Pairings: If you squint sideways, you might spot hints of Sky/Syd and Bridge/Z. But really, blink and you'll miss it.

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This was probably the most bored she had ever been in a very, very long time.

Z was lying across three seats in the foyer of Styles Recording Studios, staring up at her feet, which she had stuck over her head. Jack, sitting beside her, was drumming an aimless, endless tattoo on the smart leather upholstery. Sky was marching a trench into the shiny, marble floor.

Bridge was standing on his hands at the end of the row of seats, leaning against the wall. He'd been like that for over half an hour now. Z was starting to wonder how he was managing to stay conscious.

"I'm really, really hungry," Bridge remarked.

"Me too…" Z sighed, waggling her sneakers.

Bridge lifted one hand off the floor and scratched his nose, "can't we just go get a hot dog or something? Then come back? She'd never know."

"We're not leaving without Syd," Sky told them, firmly.

Bridge sniggered, "sure we're not."

"Where is she?" Jack asked, his finger tapping heading to a nervous frenzy, "she said she'd be down a half hour ago."

"It's a recording studio," Sky waved a hand, "they over run. Pop stars. Producers. Managers, agents, writers… It's a hectic business."

"Which you know so much about, right?" Bridge asked, jiggling a foot which had fallen asleep from the lack of blood flowing to it.

"Ten more minutes," Sky replied, firmly, "we can give her ten more minutes."  
Bridge let out a low moan, "but I'm _starving_!"

The foyer was a big, airy place. It was a glass-fronted affair, all ultra-modern, marble and white-wash and an extravagant fountain jetting up in the middle of the floor. The SPD team were waiting to pick Syd up for lunch. It was (supposedly) their day off, but Cruger had sent them on a bonding mission. This boiled down to the fact that they had to eat at least one meal together in order to have something to report back to their commander with.

Syd was working on her new album; she'd gotten a new manager, and was in the middle of a massive 're-imaging' shake up, trying to lose the whole 'teeny-bopper' thing, which was apparently out this season.

"Right, that's it," Z sat up, finally losing patience. She strode off in the direction of elevators.

"Z?" Jack leapt up after her, "where are you going?"

"To find out what the hell's keeping her!" Z called back.

Sky hurried in her wake, "you can't just stroll up to a recording studio!"

"Hey, wait for me!" Bridge righted himself and stood, unsteady for a few seconds, as the blood rushed away from his head.

Z shot into an open elevator just ahead of Jack, who crashed in after her, dragging Sky by the elbow. Bridge stumbled in last, still blinking furiously as his circulation returned to normal.

"This is_ insane_!" Sky hissed, "we can't just go around doing stuff like this!"

"Stuff like what?" Z asked, grinning, "we're just going for a little stroll, is all."

"Shh," Jack nudged the yellow ranger. The group were not alone in the elevator.

A man, apparently trying to be inconspicuous, was there with them. He looked to be in his thirties, not bad looking, dark and studious, intelligent eyes behind frameless reading glasses. He took the glasses off and tucked them into his top shirt pocket, where they joined three neatly sharpened pencils, and smiled a slight, wary smile at the four teenagers who had, so abruptly, joined him. There was a sketchbook tucked under his arm.

"We're gonna get chucked out," Sky warned, softly.

"Not if we're smart about this," Z replied.

"Oh, and your expertise in this area would be…?" Sky raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"Sky, Sky, Sky…" Z shook her head, "you don't spend a life time in the company of Jack Landers, modern day Robin Hood, without learning a few things about sneaking into places you shouldn't be." She nudged Jack, "right, red boy?"

"Hell yeah," Jack grinned.

"It's all a question of confidence," Z said, firmly.

The man cleared his throat, "if you guys are looking for a record contract, you wanna try the fifth floor. But don't tell them you were told."

"Us?" Bridge raised his eyebrows.

Z snorted with laughter, "you haven't heard Sky sing."

"Hasn't stopped most of the people round here," the man pointed out.

"Point," Jack grinned.

"We're just here to meat a friend," Sky said.

Bridge was peering at the man's sketchbook. His eyes widened suddenly and he hauled a comic book out of the pocket of his pants. A quick glance over the front cover compared back to the man's note pad seemed to confirm his suspicions. "Hey," he spoke up, holding the comic, "hey, are you… are you Trent Mercer?"

The man smiled, looking vaguely sheepish, "that's me."

Bridge's face lit up, "oh man! I've read all your comics! They're genius!"

Trent lifted his eyebrows, then smiled again, "thanks. What've you got there?"  
Bridge showed him his comic, "it's just one of the old Space-Runner sagas. I mean…"  
Trent laughed, "I haven't seen one of these in a while. God… I wrote those… years ago."

"I've been reading them since I was a kid," Bridge looked awkward, then grinned. "This is so cool! What're you doing in a recording studio?"  
Trent shrugged, "I'm meeting a friend too."

The lift opened on the eighth floor and Trent stepped out, "who're you looking for?"

"Syd," Jack put in, "we're supposed to be going for lunch."

"And now we're hungry," Bridge added.

"You mean Sydney Drew?" Trent lifted his eyebrows, "autograph hunters will get thrown out, you know that?"

"No, we really know her," Jack said.

"She hates dirt," Z set about proving Jack's statement, "like's dogs, has a toy elephant called Peanuts, paints in her spare time, thinks pink is the greatest thing to hit this galaxy since the intergalactic cat-walk and… and…"

"Carries one of these in her hand bag," Sky finished, producing his SPD badge, "except that hers is pink."

"Ah," Trent eyed the badge, "better follow me, then."

They were led along a corridor, one side of which was lined by reinforced glass, affording a fantastic view down over the city. The floor was carpeted thickly in red, the lights soft, day-light sensitive glow-globes. The whole place smacked of massive over-spending.

"In here," Trent opened a door.

The SPD rangers found themselves inside a little waiting room type place. There were no windows, though the glow-globes remained, and some older, more worn seats. Facing them were two glass panels, showing two con-joined rooms. They were looking at a recording studio; with one room, the larger of the two, containing all that ultra-modern digital recording equipment, as well as several technicians and two women who were arguing furiously over something. In the other room was Syd, looking bored. Muted sounds could be heard coming from both rooms.

"Cool…" Bridge murmured.

"This is where it all happens, huh?" Jack shoved his hands in his pockets.

Trent sat down, "looks like they've hit another creative difference. I'd pull up a seat. We're gonna be here for a while."

"Creative difference?" Sky raised his eyebrows.

Bridge nudged him, "don't you know who those two are?"

"Should I?" Sky looked on.

Bridge blinked in amazement, "Kylie Styles? Kira Ford? Come on, you're telling me you've never heard of them?"

"_That's_ Kylie Styles?" Sky frowned.

"Who?" Jack followed.

Z shrugged, "I think I remember something about her. She was big a few years ago, right? When we were kids or something."

"She was _huge_," Bridge waved a hand. "So was Kira. Completely different genre's, but apparently they went to school together or something. The point is, when they quit rocking and rolling themselves, they didn't just bow out. They went back-stage. Kylie _owns_ this recording studio; she _is_ Styles Star Productions. Kira partnered up with her; she manages the stars, not to mention writes most of their material and helps produce the records. They're a major, _major_ partnership in the recording industry. Where have you guys been the last five years? Under rocks?"

"On the streets," Jack shrugged, "you don't have much time for pop culture when you're wondering where your next meal is coming from."

"True," Z agreed.

Bridge was watching the scene in front of them intently, "if Syd's actually got this pair on her team then she really must be heading for big things…"

"Syd is already _in_ big things," Sky pointed out, "before she graduated from the academy, you couldn't pick up a magazine without her on the cover."

"Makes sense then, doesn't it?" said Jack.

Bridge knocked on the reinforced glass, "hey Syd! When are you coming out?"

Syd gave them a mortified look.

"Well, she seems pleased to see us," Z quipped.

"Shut up, Bridge," Sky sighed, "let them get on with it. They'll be done soon."

"But they've been in there _three hours_!" Bridge cried, "why would they finish now?"

The door opened and a technician put his head out, "Miss Styles would like to know who the hell you are." He gave them an apologetic look.

"We're Syd's friends," Sky replied.

"She's supposed to be having lunch with us," Jack added.

"And we're _hungry_!" Bridge finished.

Trent broke in here, "and tell Kira we have a table at Marco's that I had to pull a lot of strings to get, and if we're not there within the next half hour we'll lose it."

The technician noted all this down, "right, Mr Mercer."

Bridge turned an astonished look on the comic-book artist, "you _know_ Kira Ford?"  
Trent shrugged, "sure. We were in high-school together."

Bridge's eyebrows shot up, "who _wasn't _she in school with?"

"A lot of people," Trent ran a hand through his hair, "but our class turned out a few well known faces. Uh… Cassidy Carmelle…"

"The news anchor?"

"…Ethan Scott…"

"That video games guy? Didn't he write Death-Meld II?"

"…Conner McKnight…"

"Wasn't he a soccer player or something?"

"… he coaches now. And Devon Morwell."

"Who?"

"He was Cassidy's camera man. Now he makes documentaries. They have a kid, I think."

"That's just… weird…" Bridge was scratching his head in bemusement, "they all went to your high-school?"

"Yup," Trent nodded, his expression indifferent, "Reefside was sort of… like that. Something about exceptional circumstances making… exception people. Or something."

"What wentdown at Reefside?" Jack frowned.

Sky rolled his eyes, "the Dino-Rangers, Jack. It's all history in the SPD hand book. A guy called Mesagog tried to start a Jurassic revolution. Monsters, robots, buildings blowing up… the usual."

"Mesagog wasn't a guy," something about Trent's expression hardened, what might have been a shudder touched his shoulders, "he was a monster."

The artist looked away abruptly, his grip on his sketch book tightening.

"Trent?"

And there she was, Kira Ford herself, standing in the doorway of the recording studio, one hand holding onto the frame, the other wresting on her hip. Though most of her teenaged-grunge days had been dropped as she ascended into an oddly elegant adulthood, traces of the old, rebellious rock-chick still hung about her aura. It was in the slightly out-of-sink lengths of her three quarter length trouser legs; the occasionally crinkled strand of hair amongst the otherwise perfectly straight, well kept cascade falling past her shoulders; the off-sized boots she was wearing; the marigold yellow ribbon strung around her waist and tied into a suitably extravagant bow to one side; the deliberately over-done eye shadow that made her seem both sleepy and brooding.

She hadn't abandoned the rock-chick in her; she'd just let it hibernate for a while.

Trent's expression brightened in an instant. The shadow Mesagog's name had placed there cleared, and he smiled. She smiled back, but there was understanding under that smile, a silent message; _I get you. I understand. I know who you are. I know what you want. I know what just happened._

She tipped her head to one side, "five minutes, babe. Promise."

"Sure," Trent shrugged, apparently unconcerned.

Kira disappeared back inside the recording studio, leaving the door open. A furious argument resumed.

"I'm telling you, you can't put the middle-eight there!"

"For God's sake, Kylie, the song's been going for three minutes, where else is it gonna go?"

"Not there! We've already had it once! We can't modulate there, the listener isn't ready for it!"

"Middle Eights work fine twice over! I did it, lots of times!"

"That was acoustic-rock, Kira, it's a totally different thing! We're talking pop, here!"

"But that's precisely the image we are trying to _drop_!"

And so on.

"Alright, alright!" Kira finally seemed to come to a decision, "you! Two soy lattes and do it quick! And get Syd some water! Move! Syd, honey, baby, one more time, from the top, please, just this last time."

The pink ranger moaned softly but complied.

The song went down comparatively easily. The rhythm was infectious but gentle, made a person want to sway a little, tap their feet. The lyrics weren't challenging, but they fitted well. The melody was pleasing to the ear, not too poppy, not far enough away from it to upset the teeny-boppers. It was a hit, already, you could tell. Not the greatest thing to hit the shelves in a while, but good enough to find a place in the top ten any day of the week, maybe onto the top spot if they did their advertising properly.

"Great!" Kira stood up, "fine, fantastic, perfect, that'll do!"

"What about the middle eight?" Demanded Kylie, over the top of her soy latte, which had apparently calmed her down somewhat.

"We can deal with that _tomorrow_," Kira told her, firmly.

Syd opened the door between herself and the studio, "so can I go now?"

"We're done, sweetie," Kira replied, waving her away.

Syd looked ready to collapse with relief.

"Good work today," Kylie told her, swinging round in her chair, "this is gonna be big."

"It'll be fine," was Kira's more neutral comment, "now, you're friends are complaining about starving to death out there, so head out."

Syd bounced out of the recording studio, "let's go!"

"Thank you!" Bridge cried, "man, we have to stop for a hot dog on the way or something, my stomach is _killing_ me!"

Syd grabbed Sky's arm and hauled the blue ranger back into the corridor, followed hastily by the rest of the team, calling back over her shoulder as she went, "Bye, Trent!"

Trent smiled his vague smile at her.

"You know him?" Bridge demanded, "you've known Trent Mercer all this time and you didn't tell me?"

"Sure I know him," Syd tossed her hair nonchalantly, "he comes by the studio a couple of times a week to take Kira out for lunch. He's sweet."

"But why didn't you _tell _me!" Bridge cried.

"Well it's hardly any of anyone else's business what Kira Ford does for lunch," Syd shrugged, "I think she'd appreciate not having to be hounded every time she steps out of the studio."

"But _Trent Mercer_…" Bridge moaned, "I could have brought all my Norticon comics!"

"Aw, don't worry about it, Bridge," Z ruffled the green ranger's hair affectionately, "I'll buy you a hot dog."

Bridge's mood lightened considerably.


End file.
